Peace
by ConjuringCharybdis
Summary: The year is 1788, and England finds himself invited to America's home, an old, treasured nightgown in hand. Why does his ex-colony want to see him, and can they finally start on the long path of healing? Brotherly England/fem!America


_I don't know why I'm even bothering,_ England groused to himself as he climbed the steps of the house he knew all too well in a country he was loath to acknowledge. _The brat's done nothing to garner any favors from me. I should go back._ Just for his internal argument's sake, he turned on his heel to stare longingly down the hill, toward the docks where his small, discreet ship awaited. The sun was just beginning to rise, showering everything in an overly cheerful light that seemed to reflect the personality of the country whose lands were currently being bathed in it. Stupid America and that stupid optimism England wanted so badly to hate.

 _I really should go back. I'm needed, and I certainly don't have time to stop by and chat with my ex-colony._ Still, despite his logical, spiteful side posing a very strong argument, England found himself turning heel again and approaching the front door of the Colonial manor. For the first time in five years, he knocked on the hard wood, shifting his travel bag to his left hand. There was no taking it back now, no sneaking back to his country without America being the wiser.

As he stood, waiting for someone to answer, a new side to his thoughts emerged from where it had been stubbornly buried. _I wonder if she's missed me_. Such thoughts were unbefitting of an ex-colonizer and an empire, because colonies were supposed to be inconsequential. Tools to be used, nothing more. Losing colonies could be a pain in the arse, sure, but in the end it hardly mattered.

And yet he didn't argue the voice of his personal weakness. Because America, his little Amelia, had always mattered to him, though he'd be hard-pressed to admit it aloud. The girl had been his responsibility since she was a tiny infant colony, barely able to climb the stairs without his help. He'd raised her for decades, had taught her everything she knew. He'd… he'd grown to love her, strong-willed and obnoxious though she could be.

America had been _different_ , and he got the feeling that she would always be different from his other colonies. She was strong, eager, lively, and she firmly held a piece of his heart in her hands, even after the Revolution, when it had seemed as though that piece had been tossed away as rubbish. He knew, deep down, that she hated fighting him, but at the time it had felt so much better to believe that she'd just been playing him all along. It made it easier to face her on the battlefield.

… Of course, it hadn't made it easier to end it all that fateful day. In the end, no matter how much he could make himself believe that she'd never cared about him as he had for her, nothing could make him pull the trigger when he had the chance. One look into those fearful, agonized blue eyes and he _knew_ she was hurting too, and he _knew_ he couldn't kill her. Not when all he could see was that tiny face staring up at him with such adoration, that small hand reaching out for his.

And so the war was lost. He grudgingly acknowledged her as a country, the United States of America. Things had been tense between them for years afterwards, and they hadn't met face-to-face since. In fact, the first letter between them had arrived in his office just last month.

 _Arthur,_

 _Please come and visit me in our old house, and bring my old nightgown. I wish to speak with you._

 _Sincerely Yours,_

 _Amelia_

It had taken him completely by surprise. Why was she suddenly wishing to strike up communication again? And why did she want her old nightgown? Arthur did not like the possibilities coming to mind. Could she be wanting to completely isolate herself from him, including taking back the one keepsake he couldn't bear to leave behind? But, then again, why would she refer to him by his human name and sign off in her own? That spoke of a rather intimate bond that one would want to sever if one planned to become isolationist.

Honestly, he couldn't make heads or tails of it. He was torn between rushing to her to try and reconnect and burning the letter. If she wanted the nightgown back, he wasn't going.

But he did go. The pull was too strong. He took the little nightgown from its place in his chest of drawers almost reverently, rubbing the familiar material between his fingers and absently fixing the red bow around the neckline. This was the very garment he'd found his Amelia in, the garment she'd worn for several years before finally outgrowing it. When he thought on those times, he could only find happy memories. Those had been the days when Amelia had no desires to be independent, had instead wanted desperately to spend every waking moment with her "Bro" and make him proud. Those were the days when her giant eyes had been full of nothing but adoration and joy.

He would take the gown with him, but if she made any moves to take it from him, he would leave immediately and ignore any further letters. The nightgown was one of his most treasured possessions, and she would not be taking it to spite him.

And now there he was, standing stiffly on thei- _her_ front porch, waiting to be greeted by the girl he'd once raised as a little sister.

Arthur was about to knock once more when the door opened and a dark-haired woman in her fifties shuffled out, arms full of sheets. She apparently hadn't known someone was waiting, as she jumped upon seeing him. "Oh, goodness me! Good morning, Sir, have you been waiting long?" She fretted.

He wanted to snap at her that _yes_ , what kind of host leaves a guest on the doorstep for so long, but decided that that would be uncalled for. The woman looked frazzled and tired, like she'd been incredibly busy. He smiled reassuringly. "No, I've just arrived. Is Amelia in?" He asked, starting to get concerned that the girl hadn't made an appearance. The fact that she had a servant was also strange- Amelia was one who liked to do everything herself.

The woman studied him quickly, obviously trying not to seem like she was being rude for looking too long, before she almost sagged with relief. "Would you be Mister Kirkland, perchance?"

He let her dodging his question slide. "Yes, I am. Amelia's expecting me."

"Yes, of course. Pardon me, I'd thought you'd declined her invitation. She said you would only be a few weeks, and here it's been over a month." If the woman realized she'd been rather rude to her guest, she didn't look it. Her smile remained pleasant, although he could've sworn there was a bit of a scolding tone hidden in her voice.

Arthur pursed his lips. "Yes, well, it took me awhile to get everything in order."

The servant nodded and stepped out onto the porch, doing an awkward curtsy around the sheets in her arms. "Of course. Well, she's mighty tired from this mornin', so you'll find her in bed. Try not to wake her, if time allows." And with that she trudged down the steps, headed for the river- hopefully to wash the sheets, as Arthur had gradually picked up on a rather foul scent permeating from them. He wondered what that was about, but instead of stopping her to ask, he sighed and entered the house he hadn't set foot in for almost five years. Now wasn't the time to stall.

The house was almost exactly as he remembered it, to his shock. He'd figured she would have completely redecorated the old Colonial as soon as she'd gained her independence- out with the old, in with the new and all that. The grandfather clock still stood in the foyer, ticking away, and the table he'd built himself still held the candles little Amelia had convinced him to buy for her. She'd loved them so much that they'd yet to feel the touch of a flame when he'd lost the war, and it seemed that even after all this time she still hadn't lit them. There was something heartening about the familiarity and the fact that Amelia hadn't purged herself of his lingering presence like he'd always assumed.

He made his way up the stairs, careful to roll his feet in such a way that the steps wouldn't creak loudly. Firstly, he hated that noise, and secondly, he didn't want to wake Amelia if she truly was in an exhausted sleep. He didn't know what she could have done that could have actually sapped her seemingly endless energy, seeing as playing with the human children of the near town for almost five hours straight with little respite from the scorching sun and without lunch to fuel her had barely made her yawn, and she'd still given him a hard time about going to bed that night.

Was she sick? Had her economy completely crashed? Had some sort of plague found its way across the pond? Further worry clenched his stomach before he forced himself to calm down. He needed to be rational. Surely the girl was fine, had simply been working herself too hard for something completely stupid.

And so he didn't hesitate outside of her bedroom door as he had on the front porch. It was already open a crack, so he slowly crept in before closing it again, noting that the curtains were closed and very little sunlight was shining in. In the low visibility, he made out a feminine shape lying on the large bed, back facing him and side rising and falling with breath. He recognized the tangled golden locks splayed on the pillow behind her head, the annoying little antenna of hair still sticking straight up by her forehead. Honestly, why did she insist on letting it do that? She said it was how it naturally was, but he was secretly convinced she was purposely cutting it like that. It should definitely have grown out by now.

Amelia was breathing deeply and he knew she was out cold, and that surge of brotherliness that had never really left him reared its head and made him gently pull her blanket further up onto her shoulder before taking a seat in the rocking chair by the window. He had nothing better to do, so he pulled out some of his paperwork, opened the curtains a crack and used the limited rays of sunlight to work by. He listened absently when the servant eventually returned, then gave an assuring gesture to the woman when she peeked in to check on Amelia.

The girl hardly moved, so deep was her sleep, but about thirty minutes later she started making a strange noise- something between a choke and a cry, and in such a strange pitch that he swore he'd never heard such a noise from her- or anyone else, for that matter- before. Confused and concerned, he gently set his quill and papers aside and crept to America's side. The sound had quietened, and for a minute all was still, but just as Arthur was about to chalk it up to a nightmare now passed, the sound came again, getting stronger and a bit louder. But America… she wasn't moving, and her breathing hadn't changed.

Knitting his brows together, completely befuddled, Arthur put a hand on Amelia's shoulder to hopefully get her to stop making such strange noises.

The young Nation's peaceful expression scrunched up as she slowly came around, eyes barely cracking open so he could hardly see the slivers of bright blue. She still breathed deeply and slowly, not completely awake, and her eyes were glazed with exhaustion as they drifted to him blankly before the sound returned and she turned her dazed attention to the arm she was partially lying on. No, not her arm, he realized, floored.

"Y'r 'kay, love," she mumbled sleepily, other arm going to the fussing _infant_ curled up against her side. Arthur watched with wide eyes as she pulled down the front of her shift and brought the child to her breast, somewhat glad he couldn't see the rather inappropriate details in the dark room, only to have the child stop suckling after only a few seconds, fussing once more. "Mgh… Not hungry… go back 'sleep…" Her free hand stroked the baby's face tiredly before her eyes drifted shut and she was out again. The infant was still displeased, face turning what he assumed was an impressive shade of red.

Arthur had no idea what to do, or how to react. His little sister, his ex-colony who was still just a child, had a child of her own now. Where did it come from? Well, if she was breastfeeding it, that meant she'd had to have given birth to it. Who was the father? Was he a Nation? God, if that damned _France_ had… had…

The child let out another loud cry, the sound gurgling in its throat, and Amelia pleaded, voice no more than a whimper, "C'mon, le'me sleeeep…" She sounded so _tired_ , so completely burnt out. He remembered what the servant had said earlier. The girl was tired _from this morning_. The child seemed to be very young, very new. The sheets she'd gone to wash, smelling distinctly foul, the frazzled way the servant had looked… Had Amelia _just_ given birth? If he'd arrived a few hours earlier, would he have walked in on it?

He hadn't known Amelia was in any kind of intimate relationship, let alone that she was pregnant. Was that why she hadn't met with any of the other Nations lately, not even her allies?

Hearing his little Amelia so exhausted and desperate prompted him to carefully reach down and lift the child from her arms, freezing when she immediately noticed the lack of the infant's warmth and peered up at him dazedly. "Wha…?" She mumbled, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Arthur didn't know if she recognized him completely, so he whispered, "Don't worry, I've got him. Go to sleep." Her eyes didn't even focus on his face. She simply stared blankly up at him for a few seconds, rasped, " _Her,"_ and rolled back onto her side before promptly going limp with sleep.

Breathing a small sigh of relief, the Briton pulled the newborn to his chest a bit awkwardly, as he hadn't held such a young baby in centuries, and carried _her_ over to the rocking chair. The infant continued to fuss in his arms, face still beet red, and he began to rock her gently. "Hush, now, little one. Let your mother rest." God knew she clearly needed it.

The baby eventually did calm down, staring up at him with giant blue-green eyes. He smiled faintly; those eyes were identical in shape and relative size to her mother's. He could also see Amelia in the tiny button nose, the gangly legs and spindly little fingers. The child was naked except for a cloth diaper, so he took his uniform jacket from the back of the chair and wrapped her in it, holding her close like he'd once done with Amelia.

"I don't know what your origins are, young one, but if you're anything like your mother, I'm sure you're just as stubborn and determined to be difficult, yeah?" The baby wasn't listening, as her eyes had fluttered shut and her breathing had evened out.

And so he sat there, cradling his newborn niece to his chest like she was the most precious treasure in the world, wondering how exactly all of this had come to pass. While he was glad Amelia seemed to be in good health, and he was almost… happy to have a new addition to their dysfunctional 'family' of sorts, he was also angry that he hadn't been told about this, worried that his ex-colony might have fallen in love with a human and born his child, meaning she would long outlive them both, and saddened that, ultimately, it made sense why he hadn't been told about it. Not only were things extremely tense between them- okay, especially on his part, but it was hard not to be bitter about the Revolution- but he would surely have reacted very poorly to her breaking the news to him, and he knew she knew that. Honestly, it could almost be considered a surprise that he'd gotten a letter at all.

-Oh, and he was getting increasingly angry at the mystery father of this child. His wife had just given birth- and from the looks of it, it had been a rather difficult birth, despite the child being on the small side- and where was he? There was no sign that another man had been in the house at all. Had he abandoned Amelia and their unborn child? Was that why she resorted to contacting _England_ , of all people? The one she hadn't spoken to in years? What if the father was a Nation, and refused to claim the child as his own for political purposes?

America could be loud, obnoxious, annoying and unrefined at the best of times- but she deserved so much better than that.

It was about noon when the infant awoke once again, this time turning her head to Arthur and rooting like he'd seen pups do before. That and the fact that it had been probably over two hours since she'd last eaten indicated that she was probably ready to nurse. Which meant it was time to wake Amelia fully.

He regretted pulling the girl from her much-needed rest, but the child needed to eat, and besides, Arthur was going insane from not knowing the answers to his endless questions. So he put a gentle hand on her shoulder and shook it. "America, wake up," he said softly, although the newborn's screeching pretty much made his efforts at being quiet pointless.

The teen groaned and scrubbed a hand over her face, rolling herself over with flopping movements. She blinked her eyes widely to clear the sleep away, then sat up with a grunt. "Wha times'it?" She slurred, stretching her arms above her head.

"About noon, and time to feed the baby," Arthur replied, lowering his arms so the infant was in her periphery. Amelia blinked again, seemingly just noticing that he was there.

"A-Artie! I didn't know if you'd come!" She cried, body language completely changing, smiling widely at him in a way that made his heart pang; she hadn't looked at him like that since before the stirrings leading to the Revolutionary War. She seemed completely overjoyed to see him, and he knew now that cutting ties with him was definitely not on her to-do list.

He managed a smile in return; it wasn't that he wasn't happy to see her as well, but where she could act like nothing was wrong between them, he wasn't able to forget the years of war that had pushed them apart. "I wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I ignored your letters," he replied nonchalantly, to which she rolled her eyes. "Now, I'm going to go get you something to eat, and you're going to feed this one," he instructed, nodding towards the squalling baby in his arms.

Amelia's smile returned to its huge, face-splitting size as her gaze fell on her daughter. "Oh, come here, you!" She said happily, taking the infant from her ex-colonizer's arms, her movements slightly tinted with the awkwardness of an unsure first-time mother.

Arthur took that as his cue to head down to the kitchen and leave the girl to her job. He bumped into the servant from before, Mary, who graciously offered to put together some soup for the young mistress while he was in charge of the tea.

He came back into the bedroom twenty minutes later with a tray in hand and opened the curtains, glad to note that the babe was finished nursing and was fast asleep on the mattress beside her mother, who was sitting up and seeming more alert than before. She smiled a cheerful little smile at him as he carefully handed her the tray, taking his own cup and saucer and sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Thank God, I'm starving!" She exclaimed as she quickly began downing the soup, taking a few hearty sips of her tea every once in awhile. He chuckled internally at the familiar ravenous appetite the girl always seemed to have, turning to watch the sleeping baby after a minute. In the better lighting, he could see curly wisps of extremely pale hair.

He waited until the teen had had a chance to eat her fill before starting the long-awaited conversation. He knew Amelia wouldn't hesitate to chat while eating, because she tended to ignore his lessons on etiquette, and he really wasn't fond of the sights and sounds that created.

Surprisingly, she spoke before he could even open his mouth, running her hands through her hair and sighing contentedly. "Thanks, I needed that. I have _energy_ again!"

"I'd say so," he replied, somewhat amused.

Her gaze fell to her baby and softened into pure love, the likes of which even _he_ hadn't seen from her before. The love of a mother. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "And thank you for taking care of her. That extra sleep really helped." She chuckled dryly. "I thought labor would be a breeze since I'm so strong, but _damn_ was I wrong!" There, she'd touched on the right topic area. Now the questions could really begin.

He raised a brow. "How did that fare?"

Amelia's eyes darkened considerably. "My hips are too small. She got stuck." A nearly imperceptible shudder. "Mary had to pull her out, and her bone," not knowing much on human anatomy, the young Nation pointed to her collarbone, "broke. Then I was bleeding a lot- I think I died from it." The almost casual way the girl said this shook England, even though he'd speak of his own deaths with the same detachment. As Nations, they didn't die. Not like humans, anyway. But young Amelia was still so inexperienced with that aspect of being a Nation, and that was what made her nonchalance surprising. Also, the thought of the girl dying in such a way, even though it wasn't a permanent thing, was horrible.

The girl gave another humorless laugh, bringing her knees to her chest and resting her arms atop them, hiding her mouth behind them and staring at the wall opposite. "Poor Mary, she was so scared when I revived because she had no idea…" Clearly the teen had explained it to the servant, though, because Mary had seemed fairly normal in their earlier interactions.

This gave Arthur a chance to find an answer to his biggest question. "And did the baby's bone heal?"

"Mm-hm," she nodded. "Took a few minutes, but she's alright." The pure relief in the younger Nation's eyes spoke volumes.

Sitting there, curled up as she was, America looked like a small child again. So small, so innocent and confused and scared. He couldn't help it- he put a reassuring hand on her knee. "I'm glad," he said evenly. He couldn't see her mouth, but her eyes crinkled in their signature way when she smiled.

"I am too." He watched one of her hands go to rest on the infant's chest, her breath seeming to hitch a little and her eyes getting watery. "If I'd lost her… for a second, I wondered if she was gonna be a human and she'd just… _die_ , right there inside me because I'd done something wrong… before I'd get to meet her…" A tear slipped down her face and she hurriedly wiped it away. This girl and her damned pride.

England sighed, all thoughts of past warfare leaving his mind as he focused on the here and now, where his little sister needed her big brother. Nations didn't fear for their own lives, but fear for the lives of others was a completely different beast that even the oldest and toughest of them could hardly face. He placed his cup and saucer on the bedside table and scooted closer, beckoning her to him. She sniffled and seemed conflicted for a moment before letting out a watery sob and letting go of her knees, lurching forward and burying her face in his tunic. From there, everything was easy, natural. His arms wrapped around her as she cried, and everything, for just a little while, was okay.

Her cries died down until she was silent, still clinging to him like he was her lone salvation. He was all too happy to rest his face in her hair and rub her back comfortingly, glad to be needed by his little colony again.

But she wasn't his anymore, was she? First she was independent, and now she was someone else's.

Which brought him back to his burning questions. He'd thought he would know his answer to what the father was by knowing if the baby's injury had healed. It had, but Amelia had also said she'd worried the child would be human. Could the father have been a human and the baby was just lucky to inherit her mother's ability to heal quickly? Was that possible?

"Amelia," he whispered against her golden hair, soft as silk against his cheeks, "who's the father?"

She didn't react adversely, didn't move from her position at all. "There isn't one," she replied without hesitating.

Arthur scowled in confusion. "That's not possible," he said. It wasn't. Not since the Virgin Mary had that ever happened. And he highly doubted the little child beside them was the next Jesus Christ.

Amelia pulled back from the embrace, wiping her face although it was still red and puffy from crying. She met his eyes but didn't back down. "No, it's true. I've been with no man." Seeing his incredulous look at what she was claiming, the teen furrowed her brows. "I thought this was normal…?"

" _Normal_? Immaculate conception isn't exactly run-of-the-mill, love," England replied with slight disbelief.

She frowned in annoyance. "No, not like _that_. I mean, I thought Nations had this happen all the time?" When he was sure his expression reflected how lost he felt, she looked further frustrated and pointed at the sleeping newborn. "That's Delaware."

Arthur blinked, not quite sure how to react. He settled for, "Delaware? Your state?"

Amelia nodded vehemently. "Yes, my _first_ state."

Now it was his turn to point to the babe, still swaddled in his jacket. "And you think _this_ is some sort of… personification of your state?"

"Yes."

"But that's impossible! That's unheard of!"

She cocked her head. "Unheard of doesn't mean impossible."

He almost corrected her, _don't be cheeky_ , but instead continued, "What makes you so sure that's what she is?"

She chewed her lip. "I don't know why I know it, but I know _for certain_ that she's Delaware. She's got an aura about her kind of like ours, except hers is different because she's not a Nation. Can't you feel it?" Actually, if he focused on it, he _could_ feel something coming from the child. It was weak, barely there, but it was distinctly a personification.

"Somewhat," he conceded. "But that could just be a residuum of you, seeing as you're her mother."

"No, it's not at all like mine. Hers is unique," the teen insisted. Perhaps, like the case with Arthur himself and Flying Mint Bunny, only America could truly see the full extent of the child.

England sighed, scrubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "Okay, let's say she _is_ Delaware. Does this mean you're pregnant with, what, ten more states now? You've been quite busy adding new ones to your union this last year."

The girl shook her head, delicately tracing the baby's face with a graceful finger. "No, not all ten. But I'm probably pregnant with Pennsylvania now." He spluttered in surprise. "I don't think I become pregnant with them the moment they're annexed, but I do think I will get pregnant with them in the same order as they're annexed, just more spaced out- they need time to grow, after all." A hand went to her stomach absently. "I felt a bit different after Delaware was officially declared a state, but I didn't know it was actually _her_ … And I feel that again now. So I think we can expect Penn sometime next year."

The wry smile on her face made him splutter again. "And you're perfectly fine with that? With being a baby factory for who knows how many years? You're a large continent, America- you could have hundreds of states! Not to mention how many more times there could be birth complications!"

Her expression became wistful and she looked at him openly. "It might not be fun, it might hurt, but it's not like I can stop it from happening. Besides, since now we know they heal like we do, at least I know they'll all survive. Might as well enjoy what I'm being given." She smiled again, soulful eyes and bright teeth. When she smiled genuinely like that, he was reminded of how beautiful she was and how hard it would be to keep that pervert France from making moves on her. He dreaded her first World Conference Meeting; her beauty laid not only in her looks, but in her optimism, her genuine nature and caring heart, and he knew he'd have a hard time fighting off the likes of Spain, France, Russia, maybe those Italy twins when they were older, maybe even Japan or China. Nations or not, men were attracted to pretty girls like her. They'd be right to be attracted, but that wouldn't stop him from whipping out his book of curses should it be needed.

He was also reminded of the fact that this was _America_. She thrived on the impossible and throwing the rest of the world for a loop; she lived to love, and loved fiercely. She could beat the odds and come out on top. She saw the brighter side of every situation- some (including England, sometimes) called this naivete or stupidity. Others saw it as an admirable and empowering trait.

If anyone could endure the struggles of constant bodily strain as well as raising many children and still be involved in world affairs, he was fairly certain it was America. She was strong, she was caring, and she could be a wonderful mother. She would just need some help every once in awhile- even though their countries would likely get into more squabbles in the future, Arthur knew he would still be more than willing to offer that help. While he _was_ his country's personification, that didn't mean he agreed with every war his people waged. He didn't want to fight America ever again, and if his country did go to war with hers, he would just have to make sure he kept himself personally distant from it. Because this rekindled kinship with Amelia was too precious to throw away.

The fifteen-year-old picked up her daughter and cuddled her, purely happy. The infant awoke, making those grunting sounds newborns were wont to make, but thankfully not fussing. She cooed a little and drooled down her chin, making America laugh softly. "You're so ladylike already!" She said somewhat teasingly, wiping the slobber away.

Another thought came to mind. "So what's her name, then? Or is it just Delaware?" He reached out a hand and stroked the soft curls adorning that tiny head. He could already tell this hair would be unruly throughout the girl's life.

Amelia snorted. "Are you kidding? That would be like your only name being England or mine only being America. No, that would be mean." She looked over her daughter's face thoughtfully. "My states are here to better represent my people. I feel like their names should be ones that their people had input on, so I was thinking of naming each of them based on the name of their capitals." Also, Arthur was sure it would be hard to come up with _who knows how many_ names while still remaining somewhat creative.

Nodding in agreement, he asked, "And what's Delaware's capital?"

The girl kissed the baby's nose. "Dover. She's Dove," she said with an air of finality. "It's kind of weird-sounding, but doves are also symbols of peace, and maybe this'll be our good luck charm to stay out of any more wars…" She winked at him teasingly, being involved in several wars on her own soil as they spoke.

England turned the name over in his mind a few times. It was strange at first, he agreed, but… he liked it. America's daughter was her little haven of peace. "It's a lovely name," he complimented with a soft smile. Amelia looked at him that way again, that adoring way she had as a child.

She seemed about to say something, but suddenly perked up. "Oh! Did you bring the nightgown?"

He stared for a second; he'd completely forgotten. And now he knew what she wanted the gown for.

"Ah, yes, I have it here." He went to his bag by the rocking chair and retrieved the garment, slowly handing it to her.

To his fortune, she seemed to understand the weight behind the exchange and handled the fabric carefully, a new smile breaking out on her pale face as she felt the material. She remembered.

With great care, she unwrapped the red jacket from her newborn and slipped the nightgown over the child's head, lovingly pulling those tiny squirming arms through the sleeves. She held Dove up to show off the final product.

The gown was rather large on the infant, as America had been slightly bigger when she'd worn it, but the sight was still enough to render him speechless for a minute. He was choking on emotions he could hardly process. It was like his little colony was tiny and new all over again. The nightgown, his only true remnant of his Amelia, his treasured keepsake… but his Amelia was here, and wanted to be close with him again, not as a colony, but as his equal, and while it would take some getting used to, he _wanted_ it. He wanted _Amelia_ to be his treasured keepsake of times past and his source of hope for the future, and he would be more than willing to let go of the tiny gown if he could have her by his side again. Because his Amelia was different from his other colonies- she was his _sister_ , he _loved_ her, and she loved _him_. Even after defeating him in a hard-fought war for her independence, she still wanted to be his little sister. Her closeness with him wasn't politically motivated or forced, but purely out of her desire to be with Arthur the Person, not England the Colonizer. It was such a _human_ thing to do, and yet… he didn't dare fault her for it. He was just as guilty.

Amelia seemed to be caught up in the moment as well, the sight of her daughter wearing the little sleepdress she had spent so much of her life in, had experienced so many things in, had been connected to for so long. Her eyes were misty, but she wasn't crying. She was smiling her smile once more. "I only hope I can give her as wonderful a childhood as you gave me," she said quietly, meeting his eyes, which were starting to get suspiciously moist.

Arthur's heart skipped a beat at that. He'd given Amelia his all when he'd cared for her, wanting to give her the absolute very best in life so she would be his happy little colony. To know that even now she appreciated what he'd done… The Briton let out a laughing sob. "Oh, I know you will, Amelia," he assured her in a wavering voice, meaning every word.

The teen sniffled at that, still not letting herself start crying again, instead letting out a watery laugh. "Here- I extend my Dove to thee," she said, passing him the baby. "May there be peace between us now and forevermore." _I want us to be close again._

England laughed a little at how dramatically she'd said it, but was still touched by the sentiment of her words as he held the infant to his chest. "Cheers to that," he replied. _We will be. I swear it._

* * *

 **Hello, readers! I'm Charybdis, and this is my first fic! I put hours of work into it, so please let me know exactly what you honestly thought by reviewing! It's very much appreciated!**

 **A few notes:**

 **-I in no way find breastfeeding gross or inappropriate. However, back in Colonial times, pregnancy and birth were closely associated with female sexuality, and so things like that were usually kept hidden, out of the spotlight. Also, it's his little sis, and I'm sure he doesn't want to see _that_ much.**

 **-I don't know what the history is behind their World Conferences- how many they've had, how often they have them, who attends- so I made up my own. Amelia hasn't yet been to one, and they've been going on for some time. And basically everybody from the anime is there back then as well.**

 **-I get that England might be a little mushy here, but I always thought it would be very hard for him to let go of his precious America. He might seem to hate him, but honestly, raising someone really does bond you to them. Besides, they're so cute together! :)**

 **-I'm not trying to sound ethnocentric by saying America is different from his other colonies; I just genuinely think that there was something different to their relationship. England seemed more involved and invested in little _Amerique_ and their personalities just seemed to fit rather well. I truly do think they're closer than England is with his other colonies. I could be canonically wrong on that, but that's just my take on it.**

 **-Yes, Dove is a weird name. But I have a larger, longer fic in mind that expands on this and coming up with names for fifty kids is HARD. So the capital cities idea really helps. But some cities have weird names with very little to work with. Like Dover. I could be a jerk and have the baby be a boy and name him Ben, just to get a pity laugh from you guys, but I decided this was not the time nor the place for immature jokes. At least not _that_ immature. **

**Anyway, thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!**

 **See you next fic!**

 **-ConjuringCharybdis**


End file.
